Date: 01 Jun 1998 18:14:04 GMT Subject: NEW: "Hold Music" by XFBandit SRA/MSR (1/1) Hold Music by XFBandit Disclaimer : Not mine, never were, never will be. Rating: PG-13 (Strong language, adult imagery) Classification: SRA Keywords: MSR, Scully/Mulder Summary: Mulder starts getting phone calls from a possible boyfriend of Scully's asking for help in winning the Fair Maiden's Heart. How will Mulder react? Archive: Anywere - please keep email addy intact. Feedback- Most appreciated. xfbandit@aol.com PLEASE FORWARD TO ATXFC. -1- Another day at the office. Color me excited. Been a while since we got a half-decent case. Scully's been busy with some of her own stuff, taking Bureau time and resources to compile some pathology data that shoots over my head every time she tries to explain it. Me? I'm spending time trying to organize my filing system. Said system being described by my officemate as "A pile for everything and everything in its pile." Smartass. The phone rings. I glance up, wondering if Scully's going to get it, surprised to find that she's not here. When did she leave? I wonder. "Mulder." "Mulder," the other voice mirrors. It takes me a minute to recognize the voice. Trent. Scully's lab partner on this little project of hers. "She's not here, Trent. Don't ask me when she left or where she is." "I know," he says, hurriedly. "I asked her to run an errand for me so I'd know she was out of the office." Somewhere inside me, an alarm bell starts gently ringing. I'm not sure I like this guy sending Scully on an errand to get her out of the office. After a minute, I'm sure I don't like it. I say nothing, letting the silence draw Trent in. "I need to ask you something," he says. I see it coming, plain as day, a huge billboard in the distance growing larger with every second. "Listen...are you and Scully...?" No, pal, not that easy. You're going to have to work for it. "Are we what?" "You know." If he was here, he'd appreciate the full range of facial expressions I'm using. "Know what?" "Are you...seeing each other?" "I see her every day, Trent." He sighs, frustrated. "You know what I mean, Mulder." "Probably not, Trent. No offense, but I normally don't _get_ half of what you and Scully are always talking about. She's the brains of the partnership." "Are you and Scully romantically involved in any way?" That's a direct question I can answer. If I knew the answer. "No," I say, for lack of a better word. Sometimes I feel like English needs a word that answers a question neither positively or negatively. In the dim recesses of my mind I remember that Chinese has a word like that, something that translates to, "I cannot answer that question because that question cannot be answered." I think the word is "Wu" or something like that. "Any designs on her?" Like a tattoo, I wonder. "Are you asking if I'm interested?" Silence, and then, "Yes." "Trent, she is my partner. My best friend." There. Another non-answer in eight words. Relationship hikau. "You didn't answer the question." Oooh, he's good. "I assume from this discussion that you are contemplating asking my partner out," I say, hoping to steer the discussion elsewhere. "You could say that," Trent answers. "Well, all I can tell you is, a) we work a pretty heavy schedule, so if the two of you do start...dating...be prepared to have a lot of them end up cancelled or interrupted. And b) she's got pretty high standards." Sure, I think. Ed Jerse. There's a winner. Not to mention Jack Willis. "I know all that. But...I need to know something. Man-to-man." Whenever a man says that, it usually means he's going to ask a question that I have no desire or intention of answering. Something deeply personal. Something...oogy. "She talks about you a lot. I asked her what you were like, because...well, you know, the rumors and all. And when she talks about you, I get the feeling that...there's more going on there. That the rumors are true." I'm confused; I thought his original reference to "the rumors" were about my nickname and work habits; the second reference seems to mean the near-constant rumors that Scully and I are sleeping together, living together, or my personal favorite, secretly married. "Which rumors?" I ask, wondering if there are any new ones. "That you two are...close." I spin in my chair, placing my back towards the door, my feet up on an open desk drawer. "Trent, I think I can say this without fear of contradiction, that Special Agent Scully has no romantic interest in me whatsoever." Dammit. "Still--" I'm not going to bare my soul to this man, and it's starting to annoy the piss out of me. If he knew me, if he knew Scully half as well as he thinks he does, he'd know. Know what I do. Know what I see every time I look in the mirror. He'd smell it on me, the way she does. "Trent," I say, interrupting, "you're a medical doctor. Supposedly, that means you're intelligent. Do me a favor. Prove it. Ask her out. The worst she can say is no." I hear the door closing behind me and I close my eyes, knowing that she's heard at least part of the conversation. "Gotta go," I say, spinning back and hanging up. "Who was that?" For half a second I consider lying. "Trent," I say softly. "And who does my erstwhile lab partner wish to ask out?" she asks, moving towards her desk, distracted, obviously thinking that for some odd reason a man I knew only well enough to nod at in the hallway or in the men's room was calling me for personal advice that has nothing to do with her. "You," I say, stopping Scully in her tracks. She turns to me, surprise written on her face. "Me?" "You," I confirm, looking through the surface clutter on my desk for something to distract me. "Why was he calling you?" "Asking permission, I think." Immediately, I know that was the wrong thing to say. I can almost hear her hands flying to her hips. "Bad choice of words," I say without looking up. "He wanted to know if the rumors about you and I making hot monkey love on our desks were true, and if so, could you fit him into your schedule?" "Mulder-" "Sorry. Truthfully, he just wanted to know if I had any romantic designs on you." She nods, accepting this. Goes to her desk, sits down, cracks the laptop and boots it. I hear her fingers drumming on the surface of her desk for a good thirty seconds. "So what did you tell him?" "That we were having a torrid threesome with Skinner and that it was the AD he had to worry about, not me." "Oh," Scully said, playing along. "As long as you told the _truth_ then." I crack a smile at her. "I told him to ask you, and that the worst you could say is no." She nods. "Fine," she says, starting to type. Another thirty seconds passes. "You didn't answer my question." I look up. "Huh?" "What did you tell him when he asked if you had any romantic designs on me?" I blink at her, dumbfounded. Talk about dangerous territory. "Uh...I told him that we were partners and that you are my best friend." She smiles at this. "You still haven't answered the question." Aw, fuck me. "Scully, I told him to ask you. Can we just drop it?" For a fleeting second, almost too short to register fully, Scully's face is a mask of hurt. Then it's gone so fast I wonder if it was there for real, or if I imagined it. "Sure," she says. "Fine." -2- Two days later, alone again. Scully is at lunch. Things have been cool between us the last 48 hours. The phone rings. I stare at it, wondering if I should answer it. "Mulder." "Are you alone?" I roll my eyes. "For the moment, Trent. What torture have you called to inflict upon me now"?" "Did you tell Scully about my call?" "She caught the end of it. She asked about it." "What did you tell her?" I sigh. "Trent, she's my partner. I'm not going to lie to her. Not for you. Not for anyone." He digests this. "How did she react?" "To what?" "To my wanting to ask her out?" I roll my eyes again. "She didn't confide in me her reaction to that bit of news one way or the other, Trent." "Am I jammed up here?" I have to stifle a groan; Trent is a pathologist, not a field agent, not like Scully. I get the feeling that he likes to talk like a cop. Like a cop on "NYPD Blue." "I don't think you're jammed up on this off our overhead conversation," I say, lightly mocking him. "But you need to get out in front of this, fast, Trent." Good thing he's not in the room with me. "Yeah," he says, not realizing I'm making fun of him. "I should." At that moment, two things happen. My other line starts blinking, and Scully re-enters the office. "Gotta go," I say, punching the line. "Mulder." "Agent Mulder." It's Skinner. Scully glances up. "I need to see one of you up here as soon as possible, Mulder." I punch MUTE. "Odds," I say. Scully nods. We pump our right arms at each other, once, twice, three times. I shoot a one. Scully shoots a two. Three. I win. I hit SPKR. "Agent Scully is on her way, sir." She smiles at me and leaves. Skinner hangs up. The phone rings again. I punch SPKR. "Mulder." Silence. Then, faintly, as if the caller is trying to disguise his voice, "Pick it up." "I'm alone," I say, standing and moving to the filing cabinet. "Was she there?" "Yes, but she didn't know who the call was from." "Good. Listen -- I need a favor." I pull open a drawer and start thumbing through folders. Munitions, Mutants, Near-Death... "Shoot." "Put in a good word for me." I stop on "Open Air Abductions." "With Scully?" I can almost hear him nodding. "Sure, with Scully. Who'd you think? With you?" "Trent, I can't put in a good word for you. I hardly know you." He ponders this as I continue thumbing files. I close the drawer and pull open another one. Pa...pe...pf..pfaster? I remember holding Scully in Pfaster's mother's foyer, as Minneapolis and St. Paul QRT members swarm all over him. He's on his back, looking like a cross between a mutant turtle and a baby, his face screwed up in that pathetic "please don't hurt me" expression. "Do you think she'd be receptive?" I turn back with a file in my hand and stare directly into the eyes of my partner. She's come back for something and is standing by her desk, arms crossed, an expression I can't read on her face. "Uh...I'm not sure," I say. Drawers, I think. The sound of the drawers opening and closing must have covered her entrance. "Don't you two talk about that stuff?" Trent insists. I say nothing, apologizing with my eyes. She nods, realizing that Trent has called me. She places a finger across her lips, nodding at the phone. "Uh, Trent, she doesn't confide that kind of stuff in me. I mean, we talk...but...not about our personal lives." Scully rolls her eyes. I spread my arms, silently asking what the hell I'm supposed to do. She shakes her head and shrugs, pointing both hands, palms up, at the phone. Your mess, her expression says. You clean it up. "I want to ask her out," Trent says, almost sadly. "So ask her out. As I told you yesterday, the worst she can say is no." "What if she laughs at me?" I want to groan. Doesn't he have any self-confidence? "Trent, answer me a question. When was the last time you went out on a date?" Long pause. Scully turns, interested in the answer. "College," he finally says. Scully raises her eyebrows. "How long ago?" I insist. "Six years." I point at the door. Scully ignores me. I jab my finger at the door several times, my arm pumping. "Maybe you should re-think asking Scully out," I say. "She's..." I can't finish the sentence. "Out of my league?" Trent says quietly, almost wistfully. I hate that term. Always have, always will. "Not...exactly," I say, my eyes locked with Scully's. "What, then?" "You like her, right? A lot?" "Yeah. A whole lot." "Well, she responds to confident men," I say, not knowing if it's the truth, but hoping to buy Scully and me some time. "If you're all fumbly when you ask her out, she's going to...not respond as positively as you'd like. Maybe you should try and ask someone else out first. Get back into the dating scene. Warm up a little." Scully raises her eyebrows. "There's no one like Scully," Trent says. That much I know is true. "Well, then, just ask her, Trent. Please." "Ok...when I see her tonight, I'm going to ask her out." He sounds phony-tough and crazy-brave, as someone once said. Like he's talking himself into it. "Trent," I say, preparing him. "If she turns you down, it's not the end of the world." "Says you," Trent replies and hangs up. Scully sighs. "Sorry about that," she says. "What?" I ask. "About having to run interference for Trent." I shrug. "He likes you. He wants to ask you out. It's like High School all over again; he's asking the pretty girl's friends what she thinks of him." Something in the way I said it tips her off. "That was you, wasn't it?" "Huh?" "In High School; you were the pretty girl's friends. And the other guys always asked you if they had a chance?" I dodge the question. "What makes you say that?" She shrugs. "You've obviously had that exact same conversation with other guys. It was...it sounded almost rote, rehearsed." I shrug. "It happened once or twice." Every time, my mind shouts. Every damn time. She nods, finds what she was looking for and turns to go. "Scully," I say, and she stops. "What?" "What are you going to say?" She sighs, her shoulder slumping. "Honestly? I have no idea. I'll decide when he asks." She turns to go again, stops one more time, her hand on the door. "It might be nice, going out on an actual date. It's not like anyone's asked me in the last month." I search her tone of voice for a rebuke, and I'm not sure what I find there. "Well, lemme know what happens in case he calls back." She nods, leaving. "Sure," she calls over her shoulder. -3- The next day, I'm in the office (again!) working on expense reports. The Almighty God of Audits, aka Skinner, has commanded from on high that our expense reports, 201 forms and the always-fun 366 "Report of Ongoing Investigation" forms be completed on time, in triplicate, with no spelling or grammar errors. Sixth time this month he's made such a decree. Scully enters precisely at eight-thirty, hangs her jacket up on the coat rack and moves to her desk, already reaching for her laptop. As it boots she moves to the coffee maker and pours herself a cup, adding some Cremora and stirring. Sipping, holding the mug with two hands, she moves back to her desk, glancing at her screen. "Give," I say, just as the phone rings. I punch SPKR. "Mulder." "Agent Mulder..." A new voice. Female. "...this Sherry up in main reception. There's a box here for you that I had to sign for. Do you want me to put it in the mailroom cart or do you want to come get it?" "Hold on a sec," I say, hitting MUTE. "Rock, paper," I say. We pump arms. I throw five fingers, flat: Paper. Scully shows a fist. Paper covers rock. I win. "Shit," she says. I hit SPKR. "Special Agent Scully will be up in a few minutes," I say. She stands to go. "Wait," I say. "Give. Details." "He didn't ask," Scully says, smiling at me as she leaves the office. She's gone ten minutes. Carrying a tiny box when she returns. "It's addressed to "F. Moulder," Scully says, tossing it at me. "Xray?" "Yeah, and I ran it through the metal detector, too. Nothing. Looks like a videotape." I turn the box over in my hands. "Well, the X-ray probably did a job on it." I toss the box on a corner of my desk. "So..." I say. "Mulder, he didn't ask and I didn't pry. We spent all of ten minutes together." Whatever, I think. -4- I'm down in the Bureau archives, looking up some odd fact, when my cell chirps. "Mulder." "Mulder." It's him. "Listen, Trent, I have no desire to pass notes or find out if Scully likes you or "likes, likes" you. Understand?" "Last time, I swear." I roll my eyes. "Ask." "I have to write a paper, and it deals with an area that Scully has experience in. Chemical inhibitors in the brain. Do you think that asking her to work on the paper with me is a good idea?" I consider his question. "Good. You get to spend time together out of work in a quasi-social environment. You can get comfortable with her. You can get to know each other. Go for it." "Do you think she'd say yes?" "I have no clue. ASK, Trent." "Thanks, Mulder. You're a pal." And he's gone. Gone, but not forgotten. -5- Back to the office. I push the door open. He's standing there, in front of Scully's desk, a hopeful look on his face. She's got her arms crossed. Uh-oh, bad sign. I move behind my desk, dropping the file I'd found in my TO BE FILED box. I sit. I tilt my head at the door slightly, asking. Her eyes say, "No." I nod, and get to work. "So," Trent says as if I'm not there, "the American College of Criminal Forensic Pathologists wants me to give a paper and a talk on chemical inhibitors, and I thought that maybe you and I could..." He trails off, obviously wanting her to finish his thought. Scully's eyes find mine. I shrug, then I nod at Trent. Seems like an OK guy. For a geek. "When is it due?" Scully asks. "Six weeks. But we'll need most of that time. I have a lot of data to collate, and I could really use help. Plus, you could get a publication credit out of it." I frown. I'd forgotten about the "publish or perish" rule. "Trent, Mulder and I...we spend a lot of time in the field. I don't know how much time I could-" "Any time you can spare is fine," Trent says hurriedly, feeling it starting to slip away. I nod at her again, and poke my chin at Trent. Do it, I think. "Ok, email me the particulars and I'll take a look at it." Trent leaves without another word. -6- It takes four days. He calls me again. "We have to talk." Scully is in the lab, cutting some poor sucker into bits. "About?" "She wants you, man. I'm out of it as far as the romance thing goes. I mean, we'll do the paper and all, but hey...I don't need to be clubbed over the head with a bat." "What are you _talking_ about?" I ask. Standing, I push SPKR and go to the files. "We've been at her place every night this week," Trent explains, his voice tinny and remote through the speaker. "Every time we start to make progress on an item in the report, it reminds her of a case you and she worked on, and then I have to listen to her talk about you. How smart you are. How you figured the case out even though the evidence didn't point to it, whatever." I sigh. "Trent, trust me, Scully does not want me, ok?" "Mulder, I'm telling you man, you got this one wrong." Without knowing why, I'm suddenly incredibly angry. "Trent, listen to me and hear what the fuck I'm trying to tell you. You've known Scully for what...a few days? I mean..really been with her, right? I've been with her five goddamn years, and I know her a hell of a lot better than you ever will. She does not, never did, never will want me, ok? That's not what we are to each other. That's not what _I_ am to her. We are friends. She has made it more than clear on more than one occasion that she does not want me making a pass at her, does not want me in her heart. If you can't understand that, then there's no hope for you." I spin around and... She's there. This is getting Spooky. And embarrassing. "Trent, I have to go," I say, reaching over and silencing the phone with an angry jab of my finger. Scully stares at me, arms crossed, her lips bunched up on one side of her face. "Scully-" I start. I don't finish. Scully shifts her weight from one hip to the other and her gaze narrows, her eyebrows drawing closer together. Studying me like a bug. "Trent is convinced that-" I start again. Again, I fall silent. Anything I say now will only make matters worse. "Aw, fuck me!" I scream. "Mulder," Scully says softly. "Can I ask you something?" "If you must," I moan, falling into my chair, wondering what humiliating question she's going to come up with. "Do you want me to go out with Trent?" "Scully, it's not my place to tell you who you should date-" She takes a step closer to my desk, uncrossing her arms and placing her palms flat on the surface. "I didn't _ask_ you if you thought I should go out with him. I asked you if you WANTED me to." She pauses. "In other words, Mulder, do you not want me to go out with him?" The phone rings again. We ignore it. "What do you want, Mulder?" Scully asks. If I tell her, she'll laugh. If I tell her, she'll laugh. She'll blow me off. She'll hate me. She'll feel pressured. Constricted. Offended. Disgusted. Revolted. She'll smile sadly as she tries to think of a gentle way to let me down. She'll tell me she's flattered, but that she doesn't feel the same way. Inside, however, she'll be reviling against me, that I would be so presumptuous as to even consider that she would even, for a moment, think to- "Mulder. I'm waiting." "Yes," I gasp wetly. "I think you should go out with him." Her arms cross again, her eyes flashing. "I TOLD you I didn't want-" "Yes, I want you to go out with him." Anything, anything to get her to leave and go back to the lab. The fact that the scrubshirt she's wearing looks tailored to her petite form is NOT helping matters any. "Fine, Mulder. I'll go out with him." -7- She does. Tonight, as a matter of fact. She's out on a date with him. The rumor mill informed me that he was practically turning cartwheels in the hallway when she told him she'd go out with him. Bastard. I pace my apartment, glancing at my watch every thirty seconds, wishing that an informant would call with a lead, a clue, anything that I can use to generate an X-File on the other side of the country, something important enough to require Scully and I to dash to the airport that...very...instant. The phone rings. I glance at my watch. 8:30. He can't be THAT much of a geek. "Mulder." "It's me." I wait. "He's getting the car," Scully explains. "Dinner was wonderful. Luigi's. Best table in the house." I bite my lip, wondering why she's torturing me like this. But I asked her to call. Told her she could call. All but BEGGED her to call. "Now we're going back to my place." I close my eyes; there's no feeling in my legs. My knees are rubber. I head for the safe, warm, slick comfort of my couch, sliding into it like a pile of wet clothes. "Have fun," I manage. "Don't do anything I would do." "Don't you mean-" I hang up. -8- 9:45. The phone rings again. "Mulder." "He just left." Thank God. "He wants me to go out again Friday night. I think this one will be a real date, Mulder." She pauses. "Do you want me to go on it?" Agony. Torture. Needles in my eyes. Toothpicks under my fingernails. Chinese water torture. Tonight is TUESDAY. Friday is FOUR days away. "S-sure," I mumble. "Nice guy?" "He's sweet," Scully confirms. "Listen, I'm kind of tired-" "Goodnight," I say, and hang up. -9- Standing from the couch, I move to the bathroom. Not because I feel like I'm going to vomit. Just to be safe. I stare at the mirror. "You know what you have to do," I say to the face that peers back at me. He contemplates my words, the meanings, and nods in agreement. "It's going to suck," my image says. I nod again, agreeing. Yes. Yes it will. But it has to be done. I think a minute, considering my mental reserves. I slept so-so last night, about three hours, off and on. I've eaten tonight. That's good. I'll need the strength for what's to come. Time to get started. I turn off the bathroom light, exit and turn left, back towards the living room, shutting off lights as I go. Finally, I'm darkness. Time to begin. -10- I close my eyes, breathing slowly, letting it happen. Letting it come. Images. Pictures in my mind. Scenes of Scully and I, things that never happened. I see myself asking her out, and I imagine her response. I see her laughing at me. Pointing and laughing. "Me? You? Together? Please!" I savor it, rolling it over my tongue, tasting it. It tastes like copper. Pennies. Blood. The rage centers in my chest. I force it lower, concentrating, knowing I have to get it down deep. Into my gut; my diaphragm. I feel it hit my bowels and I groan, accepting the pain, welcoming it. Wallowing in it. I imagine her telling me she's getting married to another man. The pain is intense in my chest. Like a knife slicing through me. A dull knife. A rusty butterknife. I twist it. Tug it. I use it to root around inside my soul. Scully, kissing another man. I can't see his face. It doesn't matter. He's blonde; not me. Never me. My eyes are heavy, fat. They feel too big for my sockets. Tight, dry and wet at the same time. Dry, because they itch. Wet because I'm crying. Crying because I know if she does get married, it's the end of us. Knowing that she'll make a try at it, that she'd want to continue our friendship, knowing that she'd make a show of it. And she'd fail. No man...no husband...could tolerate me in her life the way I am. And I can't take less. I won't. So...if she marries...that'll be it. No Scully. And on the heels of that, what I need. The loathing. The welcome darkness of my heart. Knowing that it's true, that I'm not good enough for her. That I never will be. No matter what I do, who I become. The self-hate is delicious and familiar. Welcome. My oldest friend. If she marries...my only friend. I turn and lay down on the couch, drawing my knees up, curling into as much of a fetal position as I can manage. I hear her key hit the lock ten seconds later. -11- Panic. She can't see me this way. She simply cannot. "GO AWAY!" I scream. The door shuts with a soft click! and I know she ignored me. I can sense her. Smell her, even in the darkness. I hear the sound of feet coming towards me. She tosses her coat at my desk chair. It misses, and lands in a heap at her feet. She sits in the desk chair. I can feel her eyes on me, even though I can't see in the darkness. I can only make out her shape, illuminated by the sparse light oozing in between the blinds. "He's a fucking geek, Mulder," she says. "So cancel your goddamn...DATE," I whisper. "You told me you wanted me to go." I turn my face away from the shape of her, into the couch. She doesn't want to hear the truth. The thought of another man touching her, holding her, kissing her, making love- No. I will not think of that. Will not. NOT. "Why did you tell me that?" she queries. I say nothing. There is nothing to say. Not for me. I hear her snort a breath through her nose. She's upset. Whee! "What I want to know...what I really came here to find out is...why on Earth you would say what you said to him." Again, I refuse to answer. "Mulder, talk to me. Why do you think that I don't love you?" "I never said you don't love me," I say, regretting it. "But that's not what he meant." Her tone is softer now. "What makes you think I'm not in love with you, Mulder?" "Are you?" Pause. "No." Painful relief washes over me. Relief because my utter certainty in myself as unlovable has once again been confirmed. "But I could be," she continues. "So easily." I let out a breath, controlling it; it wants to leave my body in a huge shuddering sigh. "It would be so easy," she repeats. "If you'd let me." As easy as suicide, I think. "But I can't let myself love you," Scully whispers in the darkness, "until you learn to love yourself. Until you think you are worth love. Anyone's love, but my love most of all." She stands and walks to the couch, kneeling on the floor next to my head. "I hate your mother," Scully whispers to me. "I hate what she did to you. And if I ever meet the...bitch...who finished what she started..." I smile in the darkness. She's met both of them. "I've waited for you, you know. Not very modern of me, huh?" She hesitates, and when I don't answer, she continues. "Every time I try and tell you how...why...I end up sounding like a cheap romance novel. Phrases like `you complete me' just don't make it, Mulder, even if it IS true." I want to ask. How long will you wait, Scully? "I'm going to go now," Scully says. "But before I do, I want you to know a few things. First, you are the other half of me. I didn't want it, I didn't ask for it, and no one was as surprised as me when I figured it out. It's the simple truth." She pauses. "Can't get more simple than that, Mulder. And for once, it's something that has no basis in scientific fact. So there. I do believe." I hear her smile and return it, knowing that she'll feel mine. "Second, I'm not going out with Trent, or anyone else, again. Not until we figure out what the HELL we're going to do about...this." I wait for it. "And last...I'm trusting you, Mulder. I'm trusting you by telling you this, and I'm trusting you to wake up and realize what the hell is going on here and to do something about it while we're still young enough to enjoy it." She stands, leans down and kisses my forehead, and leaves. THE END ~~~~~~ send comments to xfbandit@aol.com